Chapter 16 Dmitry #2
She nodded against my mouth. “So the whole thing survives because everyone only sees their small part,” she said. “No one looks at the whole picture.”
“Exactly.”
“And the people who could stop it… they’re already complicit. They’re pulling strings or scared, paid off, or just don’t give a shit.”
“Da.”
She gave me one more kiss before settling further on my lap. I noticed her gaze became distant for a moment, as if she were replaying every memory she had of her life spent with Andrey. Then she looked at me again. Clear and focused.
“I know you think I’ll change my mind, but I’m not going to. I want to help you end it,” she said. “I don’t want to just hide from it. I want to end it and men that control and take part in hurting people and call it business.”
Something dark and vicious twisted in my chest. It was sharp and possessive, the kind of pride that comes from knowing I’d finally found something worth killing for, and it had nothing to do with revenge.
“Then we do it together,” I said, voice low and edged, the words scraping out like gravel. “But you learn first. You get strong so you stay fucking alive. Because if anyone tries to take you from me now, I’ll paint the walls with their blood before they can blink.”
Her gaze met mine, steady and unflinching. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
I leaned in closer, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist where her pulse hammered. “Good. Because I’d burn this entire world down to keep you right here.”
Although I’d never put her in harm’s way—never let her anywhere near a fight—I’d still teach her what she needed to know if things ever went wrong. I’d be the one dropping bodies, standing between her and danger. But I wasn’t leaving her helpless.
When the time was right and things settled, I’d show her the basics.
How to hold a gun right with a solid grip, thumbs forward, and not squeezing too hard.
I’d show her how to keep her feet apart, knees bent, and weight forward so she could move quickly.
I’d teach her how to breathe correctly… in through the nose, and out steady when she pulled the trigger.
Nothing fancy. Just the real stuff that keeps you alive.
She’d learn to clear jams, reload fast, and move without tripping.
I’d drill her until the gun felt natural, until she could draw and fire without thinking.
Not because I wanted her fighting. Fuck no.
But if someone ever got past me, if I got slowed down, Zoya would have what she needed to stay breathing long enough for me to get back to her.
That’s all it would be. Survival. Not turning her into me. I’d make sure no one could touch her without paying in blood first.
“This doesn’t make you one of us,” I told her quietly. “It gives you a chance to survive us.”
She nodded. “And that’s all I want. That’s enough.”
After that, I took her to the kitchen first, wanting her to be fed and full and comfortable. I set her on the counter, and she sat there silently watching me as I prepared dinner for her. After I was done, I cut it into small pieces and picked up a piece of food. “Open for me,” I murmured.
She listened to me so easily, and I felt my cock thickening. I slid the food into her mouth and watched her chew slowly, lips brushing my fingers. She licked the juice off my thumb when I pulled back. Fuck. That little move went straight to my cock.
I fed her another piece, then another. Her eyes never left mine, and by the time the plate was empty, her cheeks were flushed and my cock was hard as steel.
I lifted her off the counter and carried her upstairs to the bathroom.
There was a primal, possessive part of me that demanded I care for and tend to her.
I ran a bath, stripped her bare slowly, then shed mine until we were both bare and I could pull her into my chest and feel her soft, warm skin against my scarred, tattooed body.
Got in behind her and pulled her back against my chest. Water lapped around us as something feral in me demanded I wash her hair and body until she melted into me.
My hands slid down her body, over her breasts, between her thighs, and teased her there in a languid, almost lazy circle along her clit and pussy opening. She rocked against my palm, soft whimpers filling the room as she gave herself up to me.
When the water cooled, I lifted Zoya out and dried her gently with a towel before carrying her to the bedroom.
“I need you,” she whispered against the base of my neck, and my cock jerked violently.
She looked like sin in my arms, and I pulled the towel away, watching a bead of water trail along her nipple. I angled her and leaned down, dragging my tongue over it until she shivered for me.
I didn’t even make it to the bed. I pressed her against the wall outside the bathroom door, the cool surface making her gasp.
I put her on her feet and pinned her wrists above her head with one grip that was firm and unyielding, but not bruising.
I used my other hand to slide down her wet body, cupping her breasts, my thumb flicking the hard peak until she arched into me.
“I bet you’re dripping,” I growled against her ear, voice rough and low. “Not from the bath. From wanting my cock.”
She whimpered, hips rolling forward. I used my foot to make her legs spread even wider, and pressed my body flush against hers so she felt every hard inch of me. My dick throbbed between us, hard and leaking precum as I gripped the base and slid it against her slick folds without entering yet.
I kissed her hard, all teeth and tongue, claiming her mouth as if I owned it.
Zoya moaned into me, tongue tangling with mine, nails digging into my shoulders when I released her wrists.
My hand slid between her legs, two fingers pushing into her soaked pussy without warning.
She was so tight, hot, and clenched around me instantly.
“Fuck, this little cunt is greedy,” I rasped, pumping slow but deep, curling my fingers to hit that spot that made her knees buckle. “Already soaked and ready for me to ruin it.”
She cried out, head falling back against the wall. I added a third finger, stretching her wider, thumb grinding her clit in rough circles. I knew this was uncomfortable for her; my fingers thick and long and stretching her pussy only used by me.
I worked her fast now, relentlessly, and controlling every gasp and every shiver that coursed through her body.
“Come on my fingers first,” I ordered, voice dark and commanding. “Let me feel this pussy squeeze before I fuck it raw.”
She shattered for me… hard. Zoya’s pussy pulsed around my fingers, wetness flooding my hand, thighs shaking as she moaned my name. But I didn’t let up. I kept stroking her between the legs through her orgasm until she was whimpering, oversensitive, and pushing weakly at my chest.
I pulled my fingers out, brought them to her mouth and gruffly ordered, “Taste yourself.” She sucked them clean, eyes locked on mine, tongue swirling. Fuck. That sight snapped the last thread.
I lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, my cock lining up with her pussy. The head of my cock nudged her entrance, and in one hard thrust, I buried myself balls-deep.
She gasped, nails raking down my back, the stretch making her eyes flutter and her jaw go slack. So fucking snug as her walls gripped me like a vise.
“Feel that?” I snarled against her throat, teeth scraping. “Every thick inch is stretching this pussy. You’re mine now.”
I fucked her against the wall hard, deep, and ruthlessly. Each thrust slammed her back, wet skin slapping, her moans echoing around the bedroom. I gripped her ass, spreading her wider, driving in deeper.
No mercy. Just raw possession.
“Come again,” I growled. “Milk my cock. Take every drop when I fill you.”
She broke, her pussy clenching in tight, greedy pulls around me, mewling as she gave me what I demanded. I slammed deep one last time and followed, my cock throbbing as I emptied my balls into her body, pumping thick ropes of cum inside her.
We stayed locked together, panting, her back against the wall, my arms banded around her like steel. I didn’t pull out right away, just held her there, face buried in her neck, breathing in her scent.
She trembled in my arms, spent and shaking, nails lightly scratching my back as if she couldn’t stop touching me.
I finally eased out with a low groan, feeling her pussy clench one last time around the head as I slipped free. She whimpered at the loss. I kissed her hard—possessive, claiming—then scooped her up bridal-style, carrying her to the bed.
I laid her down on the sheets and spread her thighs wide without asking. She looked up at me, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling fast. I dropped between her legs, hooked her knees over my shoulders, and buried my face in her pussy.
Zoya was a mess, swollen and slick with my cum and her own release, pink and glistening. I groaned against her; the taste hitting me like a drug. She was salty, sweet, and all mine.
My cum leaked out of her and mixed with her wetness. I licked it all up in slow, deliberate strokes with my tongue through her folds, lapping every drop, and swallowing it down as if it belonged to me.
“Fuck, Zoya,” I growled into her pussy, voice muffled and rough. “I can taste us mixed together.”
I sucked her clit into my mouth in a hard, relentless pull. She arched off the bed, hands fisting the sheets, crying out my name. I didn’t let up as I sucked at her clit, tongue flicking fast, and tasting every fresh rush she gave me.
“Get my mouth all wet,” I ordered, dark and commanding. “Come on my tongue. Let me drink every drop while you fall apart.”
She shattered harder than before. Fresh wetness flooded my mouth as she cried out and gripped my hair in tight tugs. Her thighs clamped my head, body convulsing.
I kept licking, slower now, drawing out every tremor until she was whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at my shoulders.
I finally pulled back, chin and lips slick with her and me, and crawled up her body, caging her with my arms. When I kissed her deeply, it was because I wanted her to taste us both on my tongue. Zoya moaned into my mouth, hands clutching my neck as if she needed me closer.
I rolled us so she was curled against my chest, one arm banded tight around her waist, the other cradling her head to my shoulder. Her leg draped over mine, warm and soft, and she sighed, already drifting, completely spent.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, voice low in the dark. “My malyshka.”
She murmured something soft, barely audible, then her breathing evened out, slow and steady against my skin.
I stayed awake a little longer, feeling her heartbeat sync with mine, the weight of her in my arms grounding me. Tomorrow would bring more in terms of plans, threats, and bloodshed.
But tonight, she was here, and exhausted from taking everything I gave her. And for the first time in thirty-eight years, I slept soundly.